


Body and Soul

by Lil_Bel



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Bel/pseuds/Lil_Bel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bookend emotions, as two men find themselves falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body and Soul

I.  
Muscle and bone. Heartbeat, sweat, semen. Body and soul. Orange had consumed him entirely. And he was gone.  
What a way to go, though.  
Came along so rare this kind of full-out lust. Drove a man half-crazy, made him do things he had no excuses for.   
He’d sucked the guy’s toes, for God’s sake, rimmed that pert pink little asshole, fucked him standing up in a public restroom stall... And Orange matched him, want for want, dirty itch for dirty itch. Talented at it, too, a dream lay.  
He was a chump for the kid and knew it. Never had it so bad for somebody.  
How could a guy like him--deep in the deepest closet, past his prime--have prepared himself for actually meeting the warm, walking, talking embodiment of his lonely fantasies? He had zero defenses, and he was going down hard. Shit, he’d even told Orange his real name without a pinch of regret--an unpardonable mistake.  
With what little fortitude he could claim to have left--barely any--he’d refused to let Orange return the favor and tell him his own name. A shame, ‘cause he was dying to know. He’d look at him sometimes and speculate. Charlie? Joe? David, maybe? Tim?  
All that aside, he worried. The relationship--the whatever this was--was on thin ice right now, their future together--if any--unwritten; but he’d work it out if it killed him; to keep his boy he’d work it out. Once they got their cut from the diamonds job, they’d figure out what to do. He leaned toward Costa Rica and buying a fishing boat for charter.  
Before he found Orange, encounters with men had come with crushing guilt, a shame that withered. Back rooms, alleyways; you got the fuck off and you got the fuck out. Few real relationships of any kind, not for very long anyway. There’d been one or two men, yeah. And Alabama, his best girl. Memories now...  
But nobody like this one: dirty-blonde hair, wiry, skin made of freckles and cream, 28 years old; sweet and funny. And so very, very bad.  
Where Larry came from, a working class neighborhood with no fucking jobs left on the south side of Milwaukee, there was no such thing as out-and-proud, no going for what you really wanted--another man’s hard cock. His companionship. His affection.  
After the first time he’d done anything with a guy--Christ, when he was 15--he’d run home feeling just destroyed. He’d crouched in the corner of his bedroom like an animal and cried his eyes out. This thing was serious, no going back from it.  
If his old man found out, he’d’ve broken Larry’s face, thrown him out of the house into the street; no exaggeration. But worse than that was what Larry felt he’d done to himself. And that he’d liked it.  
Now, years later, with his sweet baby’s thighs wrapped tight around him, strong calves caressing his hips, there was nothing but desire. The young man he loved was looking up at him, gripping his neck and shoulder, expression sweet and wicked, green eyes heavy-lidded. Lost in pleasure, lost in him.   
No shame at all.  
A sob. “Larry--.”  
They were fucking, drenched in sweat, really together in it, going hard, face to face. “Like it with me?” Larry asked against that full mouth. Orange nodded, almost past speech. Larry combed fingers through the sweat-soppy hair, kissing him, tongue delving repeatedly into that heat. He reached down between them and grasped Orange’s slick cock, his other arm bracing them both. The pleasure was so intense they couldn’t last long.  
Orange’s arms slipped around his neck, holding on tight... He pulled abruptly out of the kiss, cried out.  
“Larry... Harder... Make me come--.”  
Anything you need, Larry thought, getting down to business. I want to give it to you. Please, just let me--.  
This is it, see, what you learn in 50 years: it means more to be needed than to need.  
He changed his angle, taking Orange with him. Orange looked down at where they were joined, eyes wet. “Yeah, like that. Yeah...” Groaning loudly, he reached to kiss Larry’s mouth. “I love you--. I love you--.”  
Astounded by the words, Larry wanted to say them back but couldn’t. He gave what he could: pounded them both to climax.

Rolling onto their backs they lay spent. So satisfied. Larry lit them both cigarettes and they took contemplative drags, nobody marking the passage of time.  
Orange rose to an elbow and moved to him, arm sliding up over his shoulder, embracing him. “That was fucking amazing,” he breathed. He was smiling, tender, mussed, still breathing a little hard.  
Christ, he was beautiful.  
“C’mere,” Larry bade him. They kissed, so soft. “So, you love me?” Larry wanted to know.  
“I don’t know,” Orange stammered. His eyes looked everywhere but at Larry. “What if I did?” The eyes came to rest on Larry’s. Honest.  
“I wouldn’t refuse,” Larry said, cautiously. “I’d be happy; love you back--.”  
Orange seemed confused. “You would?”  
“I thank God for you,” Larry blurted unable to help himself, then feeling his stupid face flush. “I-I do, kid. I got so lucky. Somethin’ good, finally. Somethin’ for me.”  
Orange gazed at him, expression going serious. “God don’t have much to do with it,” he said. “I think maybe...” His crooked smile was sad as he cupped the side of Larry’s face, thumb caressing under one eye. “...maybe we kinda deserve each other, huh?”  
Larry looked at him hard for a moment, trying to figure out his tone, figure him out. Orange dropped his gaze, hair falling in his hooded eyes. “C’mon,” Larry relented. “Let’s just go to sleep.” He took Orange in his arms--he came willingly--and pulled the sheet over them both.

II.  
The knocking at the door roused Freddy from deep sleep. His watch read 3 a.m. Raking his hair out of his eyes he got up, yanked on the jeans he’d thrown on the floor earlier and went to open it. Pretty sure he knew who it was already by the knock; didn’t need to look to see who.   
He opened the door and there he stood: the adorable tough guy he’d been having insane amounts of sex with over the last seven days, his old man looking back at him, hazel eyes intent on him, expression almost relieved.  
Larry moved through the door, pressing it closed slowly behind him and paused there, gazing at him. “You’re awake,” he said.  
Freddy immediately pulled him in by his shirtfront and took the kiss he couldn’t believe he needed so bad. Larry came to him obediently, arms sliding around his waist with a big squeeze. He smelled of cigarette smoke, soap and cologne, bitter, warm, and musk, and Freddy inhaled him deep. “Got back here, finally.”  
“Joe wanted to talk to me; I hadda go.”  
“Yeah, well. He whistles, you come.”  
“No picnic for me either, listenin’ to him rattle on about the fuckin’ old days.”  
“I been feeling pretty neglected tonight,” Freddy complained, laughing a little. “Somethin’ was definitely missing. Finally just fell asleep, outta boredom.”  
“So, you miss me? C’mere.”   
They kissed and kissed. Larry’s hands slipped down his sides to his ass, caressing, bending him backward just a little for more contact, kissing and nibbling down his neck.  
Freddy sighed, feeling himself getting hot, stinging with it. Christ, how do you do this to me? Freddy wondered, pulling back to look at Larry. Knock down all my guards, make me crazy with wanting what you’ve got.   
So gentle those thick hands could be with him, but never taking no for an answer. And Larry’s sweetness; under it all, he was just somehow...sweet. Like now. Needful, stars in his eyes. For Freddy.  
I love how you touch me, treat me. Like I’m something valuable to you, something you want to keep... Give anything to keep.  
Freddy felt...worthwhile. Never felt that with anybody and he was hooked on it, depended on it more and more for his self-esteem. In truth, sometimes he wanted to be who Larry thought he was. He’d speculated, seriously, about how it’d be to partner up with him. And what would his colleagues on the police force think of him if they knew that?  
“You want a beer or somethin’?” Freddy asked.  
“Let’s just go to bed, huh?” Larry suggested, turning and guiding him in the right direction with a gentle little push.   
Freddy dropped the jeans he’d thrown on to answer the door, nothing underneath, and crawled onto his bed, moving to sit up against the wall.  
Getting rid of his shoes and socks, the older man unbuttoned and slipped off his black bowling shirt with the white diamonds running down the side, tossed it away then pulled off his white undershirt.  
Freddy watched the unbuckling of the belt, the unzipping and dropping of trousers, underwear. He straightened and stood there as if letting Freddy look at him, comfortable with being naked, easy in his skin. He was thrilling, and Freddy felt himself all at once totally losing his composure. He moved restlessly, stroking himself. “Get over here, will ya?”  
Muscle and bone. Heartbeat, semen and sweat. Body and soul. Orange had been consumed entirely, was gone.

end


End file.
